Hold on to This Lullaby
by LucyEverdeen28
Summary: Set after Mockingjay.  Katniss begins to have dreams of a blonde girl who looks like Prim, only older.  Inspired by and based on Taylor Swift's "Safe & Sound" music video.


**This fanfic is inspired by Taylor Swift's music video "Safe & Sound." I am completely in love with the song, and when I saw the video, the first thing I thought was that Taylor looked like an older version of Prim. The idea played around in my head for a couple weeks until I sat down and wrote the fanfic. It's set a few years after Mockingjay and is from Katniss's POV, and it's about her dreams of what Prim would look like when she grew up. It will make much more sense if you have seen the "Safe & Sound" video.**

**I don't own the Taylor Swift's song, music video, or the Hunger Games. Thanks for reading!**

I dream of Prim sometimes.

She's been gone for almost four years now. I shouldn't still be haunted by memories of her, but I am. Everything I see and do reminds me of her. Only some parts of my memory slip away: images, mostly. I'm forgetting what she looked like. This scares me more than anything. I can't lose her.

But in my dreams, new images arise. I see a girl walking in the forest. She's familiar, in a queer way. Her ghostly white dress trails behind her as she walks alone. Long blonde hair spills across her shoulders and hangs down her back. Her blue eyes are piercing and lonely.

At first, I don't know who she is. I've never had dreams as strange as this before. After a few nights of the same dream, my memories muddle together, and I realize who she reminds me of.

My sister. Little Duck. Primrose. If Prim had grown to be an adult, this was what she would have looked like.

After this, I start paying more attention in my dreams, struggling to connect the similarities. The girl in my dreams has blonde hair that looks just like Prim's when it wasn't in a braid. Prim never had bangs, but the girl's bangs brush across her forehead and give her a delicate appearance. Even the way she carries herself reminds me of Prim.

It's the eyes that finally convince me. In my dreams, the girl's blue eyes are exactly the same as Prim's. Round and innocent, taking in everything around her. Watching for anything unusual. She was born to be a healer, always rushing to help, never giving a thought for herself, only caring about others. And these facts ultimately got her killed.

That's when the tears come. I start waking up with dampness on my cheeks. I want Prim to be with me here, now. I want to watch her grow up into the capable young woman I see in my dreams.

As much as the dreams bring me pain, I welcome the comfort that they also carry. I don't know why I have these dreams. Maybe it's just my imagination and my mind interpreting memories. But whatever the reason, I'm glad for this unexpected gift.

The dream changes after some time. Prim starts singing a song. I can never remember it when I wake up, just the sense that it was soothing and calming. Only five words stay in my head like a command: hold on to this lullaby.

I take the words seriously. I've carried Prim in my heart ever since she died, but my thoughts of her are even stronger now. I remember her not just as a little sister, but her as a person. Who she was, and her sacrifice. Always putting the pieces back together after someone else made a mess.

Healing, not breaking down. Repairing, not destroying. We balanced each other out.

More than anything, I just want to know what the song is. I'm desperate to hear and remember the words, but I come away clinging to a faint melody and the one line that I already have.

Finally I decide it's no use. Maybe I will never know the song. But I still see the older Prim, and I want her image captured somewhere besides my head.

I know exactly who to go to. I find Peeta. Out of everyone I know, he's the only person I can depend on to tell this story. Somehow, we understand each other, and he won't think I'm crazy.

He sits quietly as I tell him, nodding along at times. When I'm finished, he looks me in the eye. "I haven't painted much lately," he confesses.

This startles me. Peeta and I have sort of overcome our personal battles on our own, so we don't see each other a lot, but we're still friends. As for that friendship, I think we both have the mutual sense that it could grow into something more one day, but for now we're just surviving the nightmares of the past on our own. Still, I thought he was keeping up with his painting. "Why?"

"I bake. That's easy. But painting…it's been a while. It's harder. I've only done a handful of paintings in the past year." He offers a wry smile. "I don't think I'm as good at it as I once was."

I clasp my hands in my lap. This is not the answer I wanted. "Will you try?"

Peeta opens a drawer and twirls a paintbrush in his hand, a sparkle in his eyes that reminds me of his old self. "Describe her for me."

I look away. "Light blonde hair. Really long, almost to her waist, and she had bangs. She was fair. She wore a white dress with short sleeves. Barefoot." I meet Peeta's eyes. He holds my gaze patiently, and I know I've given him a very bland description. He needs personal details.

I try again. "She was so pale. Only not in a sickly way, but almost…" I search for the right word. "Unearthly."

Peeta pulls out his paints and begins mixing colors. I take this as a sign of encouragement and continue.

"She looked sad, but reassured too. Like she was confident that everything would be okay in the end."

He nods. "You think she knew we'd be safe and sound when it was all over?"

"Yeah." I frown. "That's exactly the phrase."

Peeta sets his brush down and stands up. "I can't promise this will turn out like you want, Katniss. But I will honor your sister in the best way I can."

He gives me that half-smile that always makes my heartbeat quicken. I stand up too, swallowing. "Thanks. I'll be back in a few days."

But it's only one day later that I walk inside my house from hunting. I slow down as I pass the hallway. On the normally bare wall is a new portrait. It looks exactly like the older Prim I keep seeing. This is no coincidence. Peeta has captured every emotion in her expression.

The picture is of the side of her face, from an angle. Her eyes are lit with hope, bangs carelessly scattered across her forehead. She looks young and old at the same time. And in her hand she's clutching something familiar. A mockingjay pin.

"Does it look like her?"

My gaze remains fixed on the painting even as Peeta steps up beside me. "Exactly." I shoot a glance at him. "Down to every little detail. How on earth did you do that?"

"I don't know," Peeta admits. "It was strange. Yesterday after you left…I just felt moved to paint. It was like my hands knew what to do. And before I knew it I'd finished it."

"Where did you get the idea…you know, for the pin?" I nod at the mockingjay in Prim's hands. "I don't remember anything like that in my dreams."

He stares at the picture. "I don't know either. Once I painted her face, I thought I was done, but I continued painting and somehow I ended up painting your mockingjay pin."

This picture moves me more than I can say. It's not just an accurate painting; it's powerful and brings back all my best memories of Prim. So I can't even stop myself when a tear courses down my cheek.

"I can try again, if you think the painting is that horrible," Peeta says when he notices my tear.

I jump and brush it away. I rarely cry, especially not in front of others. "No––Peeta, it's just that it's so perfect. It's just how I envisioned her. Thank you."

His eyes are warm. "So the painting looks the way you wanted it to?"

I nod and blink my eyes. "I don't know what came over us––me with the dreams, you with the painting." All I know is that this is supposed to be a lesson of sorts. "The only thing I can't figure out is what the mockingjay pin means."

Peeta's hand brushes mine in a friendly way. "Keep thinking about it. It'll come to you soon."

I take his advice, but I fall into an uneasy sleep that night. Prim's face fades in and out of my dreams. I finally give up on sleeping and sit up in bed. Sitting there, doing absolutely nothing, gives me time to think.

And just like Peeta said, it comes to me. These dreams have been telling me to let go. I still haven't gotten over my grief for Prim. I'm still mourning her. And I need to move on with life.

Knowing that puts things in perspective. So much could happen in my life, if I just stopped moping around. Everything makes sense now. "Hold on to this lullaby"––I can't forget Prim. I'll always remember her. But the older Prim, and the song I can never remember––it means wherever she is now, Prim is safe and happy. I don't need to worry over her anymore. The Games are over. There are better things waiting to happen in life. Like maybe…just maybe…a relationship with Peeta.

Somehow, I fall back to sleep. But there are no more dreams. A part of me is horrified when I wake up. Now that I know the reason for the dreams, they're gone. At first I want to yank out my hair, but then I remember Peeta's painting. I jump out of bed and fly down the stairs.

It's still there. I stare at the portrait of Prim, of what my sister could have been if she hadn't died. And I know that somehow, the pain in my heart has healed. Of course I'll always miss her, but I can start changing my life now. There's a second chance waiting for me.

_Peeta. _I need to tell Peeta what the dreams mean. What the mockingjay pin in Prim's hands means.

It means freedom. Freedom to do anything. I tear out the door and run down the street to Peeta's house. Maybe now we can be close friends again. And maybe even fall in love all over again.

I run faster, ready to face my future.

**Please review! I'd love any thoughts on how the pacing of the story was, if the characters were in character, etc. Helpful criticism is welcome. Thank you for taking the time to read this fanfic…it means a lot to me.**

**Side Note: "If I Die Young" by the Band Perry also inspired me as I was writing this.**


End file.
